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WJIIHM HfHMH am TEiniS, $2,00 PRR ANNUM, IN ADVANCE. i!)ri§iiinl Kor (lie Southern Literary Gazette. L<> V E. ! \TRA< T from an unpublished story. I. I. Lift. w , t- love’s sad limit,—did we hail jiiu-cour in the luture—could we deem I'li.it Ih-jx- were not immortal, and the wail \\Yiv endless that deplores our baffled dream. The gay design of youth—the golden scheme That makes the young heart tingle with de light Dow t-dious were our joys—how sad the gleam, Treacherous and lowly, of Love’s doubtful bright, An imp of malice born, that lures and leaves in night. 11. [j,,vv few of all who love can know reward ! The doubts, the cares of life—the sad mis take it phrenzied passions—feeling’s bann’d and barr’d — Hopes baffled, —truest heart’s that yet must break, Beneath those social forms which ever make Slaves of their masters —these, and much be side, That doom us, uuforsaken to forsake, jlav well persuade us to forswear our pride, Turn hopeless from earth’s hopes, and pray for happier guide. 111. And Love that’s pure and holy can,in Heaven, llupe only,—for it seldom finds below \h, t altar for the flame, unwisely given, Unless prepared in other realms to glow— Realms of the happy, where sweet flowers may blow’, Unspotted by the budworm at their birth, — Where,by unfailing instinct, love may know Its fellow, nor deluded as on earth Yield all its sacred faith to mate of little worth IV. Ah! think you of two young and yearning hearts, Long-loving but denied ; —one, lowly born In peasant's shed, wdth genius that imparts Pride to the humblest, and to home forlorn Brings feelings that defies the petty scorn Os social grandeur. He hath raised his eye la worship—feels his heart by passions torn, Yam-seeking one whom princely state lifts high, A creature doom’d at birth to soulless sover eignity ! V. She loves the homage that he brings—she hears His song with rapture—to his accent bends, Wti.eh, at his parting, still employs her ears, Her musings prompts, her solitude attends, Most sweet of counsellors, most sure of friends ; Ah’ yet to be denied, when all is shown, — Sundered by tyrant law that still offends batust nature, from a tie the dearest knowm, Heine doomed to longings vain, still hopeless, still alone. VI. > ich are the two, that in our moonlight strain, Commune for sorrow. Tenderly endow’d Both hearts, and b eathing forth their passionate pain With little heed of censure from the crowd ; No longer in her birth and station proud, Th e queenly mistress of more hearts than his : He claiming more than jealous eyes allowed ) Blind with the dreams of his deceitful bliss, Ami reckless of the storm that threats his hap piness. VII. ■L. vainly would they tell us of the power, Love holds o’er human heart, who never knew L fearful spells of his triumphant hour, I he wild, blind fervor of his spirit, true. But to one pule, as winds that never blew lo oilier: —while, above him, shining lone, Ihe single star implores him to pursue,— Ail thought's o’erborne, all feelings merged in one, Le maddens as he flies, and maddening, flies undone. VIII. I'. is not love that, idly, day by day 1 an string loose fancies in capricious mood, 1 orturing conceit, and with a wanton play,— A pastime, not a passion, still pursued— I lucks the gay idiot flowers that flaunt the wood, A I wah fantastic chaplet, strung at ease, 11 ' r floral knots, at noon day loves to brood ; A tiispering loose carols to the vagrant breeze, carving, labour dull, rude letters on the trees. • IV. Rethinks the heart that truly wakes in love, ! no such vagrant fancy takes delight; ‘'Her laith his spirit fain would prove, ‘ n A nobler things are present to his sight. kings that he strains for, though beyond his height ; *•’ ‘Bought from childish folly sets he free, LtiOgs i t w j t i, worship to that altar bright, “" I(: a something holy doth he see, ~lt teaches to his heart love’s pure divinity. X. “ his soul's first idol, and he dwells, ’ a'e er his place in common worldly ways, \ 1 * rom all in spirit, ’neath the spells, * But Wake his dream o’ nights, his thought o’ days, ac h its offering of devotion pays. ***** ■' lN Example for Lawyers.—Alex -1 11 Hamilton was once applied to as !i ''i by a man having the guardian- i H, t several orphans, who would, on v “ l] g of age, succeed to a large and ‘table estate, of which there was a 0i ‘ 1 ‘ial defect in the title-deeds, known ’ L> their guardian, who wanted to ” 1 title vested in himself. Hamil- J, 11 down the faithless executor’s t a e, hent, and then said to him—“Set jj, i h these unhappy infants honour , ’. v Bo the last cent, or I will hunt you i vi, - Vour s kin like a hare.” The ad ’ Was strictly followed, and the man 1,1 gave it was an ornament to the a| iand to the age he lived in. a MMi mm. mem to umtmm, m ms m swam, m to emm whimis. (T'ljc itorij iT'dftr. From Chamber,* Edinburgh Journal. RECOLLECTIONS OF A POLICE OFFICER. THE WIDOW, In the winter of 1833 I was hurried ly, and, as 1 at the time could not help thinking, precipitately despatched to Guernsey, one of the largest of the islands which dot the British Channel, in quest of a gentleman of, till then, high character on the Stock Exchange, who, it was alleged, had absconded with a very large sum of money intrusted to him for investment by a Baronet of considerable influence in official quar ters. From certain circumstances, it was surmised that Guernsey would be his first hiding place, and I was obliged to post all the way to Weymouth in oder to save the mail packet, which left that place on the Saturday evening, or night rather, with the Channel-Island mails. Mr. had gone, it was con jectured, by way of Southampton. My search, promptly and zealously as I was aided by the Guernsey authorities, proving vain, I determined on going on to Jersey, when a letter arrived by post informing me that the person of whom 1 was in pursuit had either not intended to defraud his client, or that his heart had failed him at the threshold of crime. A few hours after 1 had left London he had reappeared, it seems, in his count ing-house, after having a few minutes previously effected the investment of the money in accordance with his client's instructions, and was now, through his attorney, threatening the accuser and all his aiders and abettors with the agreeable processes that in England usually follow sharply at the heels ot such rash and hasty proceed ings. My mission over, I proposed to re trace my steps immediately ; hut un fortunately found myself detained in the island for nearly a week by the hur ricane-weather which suddenly set in, rendering it impossible for the mail or other steam packets to cross the Chan nel during its continuance. Time limp ed slowly and heavily away ; and fre quently, in my impatience to be gone, 1 walked down to the black pier, and strained my eyes in the direction in which the steamer from Jersey should appear. Almost every time 1 did so l encountered two persons, who, I could see, were even more impatient to be gone than myself, and probably. I thought, with much more reason. They were a widow lady, not certainly more than thirty years of age, and her son, a fine curly haired boy, about eight or nine years old, whose natural lightheart edness appeared to be checked, subdued, by the deep grief and sadness which trembled in his mother’s fine expres sive eyes, and shrouded her pale but handsome face. He held her by the hand : often clasping it with both his tiny ones, and looking up to her as she turned despondingly away from the va cant roadstead and raging waters, with a half-frightened, half-wondering expres sion, of anxious love, which would fre quently cause his mother to bend down, and hurriedly strive to kiss away the sorrowful alarm depicted in the child’s face. These two beings strangely in terested me ; chiefly, perhaps, because, in my compelled idleness, 1 had little else except the obstinate and angry weather to engage my attention or oc cupy my thoughts. There was an un mistakable air of “ better days” about the widow—a grace of manner which her somewhat faded and unseasonable raiment rendered but the more striking and apparent. Iler countenance, one perceived at the first glance, was of re markable comeliness; and upon one occasion that I had an opportunity of observing it, 1 was satisfied that, under happier influences’ than now appeared to overshadow her, those pale, inter esting features would light up into beau ty as brilliant as it was refined and in tellectual. This introduces another walking mys tery, which, for want of something bet ter to do, 1 was conjuring out of my fellow watchers on the pier. He was a stoutish, strongly-set man of forty years of age, perhaps scarcely so much, showily dressed in new glossy clothes; French varnished boots, thin soled enough, winter as it was, for a draw ing-room ; hat of the latest gent fash ion; a variegated satin cravat, fastened by two enormous-headed gold pins, connected with a chain, and a heavy gold chain fastened from his watch waistcoat-pocket over his neck. The complexion of his face was a cadaverous white, liberally sprinkled and relieved with gin and brandy blossoms, whilst the coarseness of his not over-clean hands was with singular taste set off and displayed by some half-dozen glit tering rings. 1 felt a growing convic tion, especially on noticing a sudden change in the usual cunning, impudent, leering expression of his eyes, as he caught me looking at him with some earnestness, that I had somewhere had the hononr of a previous introduction to him. That he had not been, lately at all events, used to such resplendent habiliments as he now sported, was abundantly evident from his numerous smirking self-surveys as he strutted jauntily along, and frequent stoppings before shops that, having mirrors in their windows, afforded a more com plete view of his charming person. — This creature 1 was convinced was in some way or other connected, or at any rate acquainted with the young and graceful widow. He was constantly dogging her steps; and I noticed with surprise and some little irritation, that his vulgar bow was faintly returned by the lady as they passed each other; and that her recognition of him, slight and distant as it was, was not unfrequently accompanied by ablush, whether arising from a pleasurable emotion or the re verse I could not for some time deter mine. There is a mystery about blushes, I was, and am quite aware, not easily penetrable, more especially about those of widows. I was soon enlighted upon that point. One day, when she hap- pened to be standing alone upon the pier—her little boy was gazing through a telescope I had borrowed of the land lord of the hotel where 1 lodged—he approached, and before she was well aware of his intention, took her hand, uttering at the same time, it seemed, some words of compliment. It was then I observed her features literally flash with a vividness of expression which revealed a beauty I had not be fore imagined she possessed. The fel low absolutely recoiled before the con centrated scorn which flushed her pale features, and the indignant gesture with which she withdrew her hand from the contamination of his touch. As he turned confusedly and hastily away, his eyes encountered mine, and he mut tered some unintelligible sentencs du ring which the widow and her son left the spot. “ The lady,” said I, as soon as she was out of hearing, “seems in a cold bit ter humour this morning; not unlike the weather.” “ Yes, Mr. Wat I beg pardon, Mr. What’s-your-name, I would say ?” “ Waters, as 1 perceive you know quite well. Mv recollection of you is not so distinct. 1 have no remembrance of the fashionable clothes and brilliant jewelry, none whatever; hut the re markable countenance I have seen.” “1 dare say you have Waters,” he re plied reassuming his insolent, swagger ing air. “ 1 practice at the old Bailey; and 1 have several times seen you there, not, as now, in the masquerade of a gen tleman, but with a number on your col lar.” 1 was silly enough to fed annoyed for a moment at the fellow’s stupid sar casm, and turned angrily away. “ There, don’t fly into a passion,” continued he, with an exulting chuckle. “ I have no wish to be ill friends with so smart a hand as you are. What do you say to a glass or two of wine, if only to keep this confounded wind out of our stomachs ? It’s cheap enough here.” 1 hesitated a few seconds and then said, “ 1 have no great objection ; but first, whom have 1 the honour of ad dressing ?” “Mr. Gates. W illiam Gates, Esquire , attorney at-law.” “Gates! Not the Gates, I hope, in the late Bryant affair ?” “ Well—yes: but allow me to say, Waters, that the observations of the judge on that matter, and the conse quent proceedings, were quite unjusti fiable ; and I was strongly advised to petition the House on the subject; but 1 forbore, perhaps unwisely.” “ From consideration chiefly, I dare say, for the age and infirmities of his lordship, and his numerous family ?” “ Come, come,” rejoined Gates, with a laugh ; “don’t poke fun in that way. The truth is, I get on quite as well with out as with the certificate. 1 transact business now for Mr. Everard Preston: you understand ?” “ Perfectly. 1 now remember where I have seen you. But how is it your dress has become so suddenly changed? A few weeks ago, it was nothing like so magnificent ?” “True, my dear boy, true: quite right. 1 saw you observed that. First rate, isn’t it ? Every article genuine. Bond and Regent Street, 1 assure you,” he added scanning himself complacent ly over. I nodded approval, and he went on —“You see 1 have had a wind fall ; a piece of remarkable luck ; and so I thought I would escape out of the dingy, smoky village, and air myself for a few days in the Channel.” “ A delightful time of the year for such a purpose truly. Rather say you came to improve your acquaintance with the lady yonder, who, 1 dare say, will not prove ultimately inflexible?” “ Perhaps you are right —a little at least you may be, about the edges.— But here we are ; what do you take— port ?” “ That as soon as anything else.” Mr. Gates was, as he said, constitu tionally thirsty, and although it was still early in the day, drank with great relish and industry. As he grew flush ed and rosy, and I therefore imagined communicative, I said, “ Well now, tell me who and what is that lady ?” The reply was a significant compound gesture, comprising a wink of his left eye and the tap of a fore-finger upon the right side of his nose. I wait but the pantomimic action remained uninter preted by words. “ Not rich, apparently ?’ “ Poor as Job.” “An imprudent marriage,probably?” “ Guess again, and I’ll take odds you’ll guess wrong; but suppose, as variety is charming, we change the sub ject. W hat is your opinion now of the prospects of the ministry ?” I saw that it was useless attempting to extract any information from so cun ning a rascal; and hastily excusing my self, I rose, abruptly took my leave, more and more puzzled to account for the evident connection, in some way or other, of so fair and elegant a wo man with a low attorney, struck oflfthe rolls for fraudulent misconduct, and now acting in the name of a person scarcely less disreputable than himself. On emerging from the tavern, 1 found that the wind had not only sensibly abated, hut had become more favoura hie to the packet’s leaving Jersey, and that early the next morning we might reasonably hope to embark for Wey mouth. It turned out as we anticipated. The same boat which took me off the roads conveyed also the widow—Mrs. Grey, I saw by the cards on her mo dest luggage —and her son. Gates followed a few minutes aftewards, and we were soon on our stormy voyage homewards. The passage was a very rough, un pleasant one, and I saw little of the pas sengers in whom, in spite of myself, as it were, I continued to feel so strong an interest, till the steamer was moored alongside the Weymouth quay, and we stood together for a brief space, awaiting the scrutiny and questionings of the officers of the customs. I bowed adieu as I stepped from the paddle-box CHARLESTON. SATURDAY, SEPT. 28, 1850. to the shore, and thought, with a feel ing of regret, that in all probability I should never see either of them again. I was mistaken, for on arriving early the next morning to take possession of the outside place booked for me by the coach to London through Southampton, I found Mrs. Grey and her son already seated on the roof. Gates came hur riedly a few minutes afterwards, and esconced himslf snugly inside. The day was bitterly cold, and the widow and hersomewhatdelicate-looking hoy were but poorly clad for such inclement weather, The coachman and myself, however, contrived to force some rough, stout cloaks upon their acceptance, which sufficed pretty well during the day ; but as night came on rainy and tempestuous, as well as dark and bleak, I felt that they must be in some way or other got inside, where Gates was the only passenger. Yet so distant, so frigidly courteous was Mrs. Grey, that 1 was at a loss how to manage it. Gates, I saw, was enjoying himself hugely to his own satisfaction. At every stage he swallowed a large glass of brandy and water, and I observed that he cast more and more audaciously triumphant glances towards Mrs. Grey. Once her eye, though studiously 1 thought avert ed from him, caught his, and a deep blush, in which fear, timidity, and aver sion seemed strangely mingled, swept over her face. What could it mean? It was, however, useless to worry my selt further with profitless conjectures, and I descended from the roof to hold a private parley with the coachman.— A reasonable bargain was soon struck; he went to Mrs. Grey and proposed to her, as there was plenty of room to spare, that she and her son should ride inside. “It will make no difference in the fare,” he added, “and it’s bitter cold out here for a lady.” “Thank you,” replied the widow, after a few moment’s hesitation ; “ we shall do very well here.” I guessed the cause of her refusal, and hastened to add, “ You had better, 1 think, accept the coachman’s proposal; the night-weather will be dreadful, and even 1, a man, must take refuge inside.” She looked at me with a sort of grate ful curiosity, and then accepted, with many thanks, the coachman’s offer. When we alighted at the Regent Circus, London, 1 looked anxiously hut vainly round for someone in attendance to receive and greet the widow and her son. She did not seem to expect any one, hut stood gazing vacantly, yet sadly at the noisy’, glaring, hurrying scene around her, her child’s hand clasp ed in hers with an unconsciously tight ening grasp, whilst her luggage was re moved from the roof of the coach.— Gates stood near, as if in expectation that his services must now, however unwillingly, he accepted by Mrs. Grey. 1 approached her,and said somewhat hur riedly, “If, as I apprehend, madam, you are a stranger in London, and conse quently’ in need of temporary lodgings, you will, 1 think, do well to apply to the person whose address I have writ ten on this card. It is close by. lie knows me, and on your mentioning my name, will treat you with every con sideration. lam a police officer ; here is my address ; and any assistance in my power shall, in any case,” and I glanced at Gates, “ be freely rendered to you. 1 then hastened off, and my wife an hour afterwards was even more anxious and interested for the myste rious widow and her son than myself. About six weeks had glided away, and the remembrance of fellow-passen gers from Guernsey was rapidly fading into indistinctness, when a visit from Roberts, to whose lodgings I had recom mended Mrs. Grey, brought them once more painfully before me. That the widow was poor I was not suprised to hear; hut that a person so utterly des titute of resources and friends, as she appeared from Robert’s account to be, should have sought the huge wilder ness of London, seemed marvelous. Iler few trinkets, and nearly all her scanty wardrobe, Roberts more than suspected, were at the pawnbroker’s. The rent of the lodgings had not been paid for the last month, and he believed that for some time past they had not had a sufficiency of food, and were noiv in a state of literal starvation! Still she was cold and distant as ever, complain ed not, though daily becoming paler, thinner, weaker. “ Does Gates the attorney visit her?” I asked. “ No—she would not see him, but letters from him are almost daily re ceived.” Roberts, who was a widower, wished my wife to see her: he was seriously apprehensive of some tragical result; and this, apart from considerations of humanity, could not be permitted for his own sake to occur in his house. I acquiesced; and Emily hurriedly equip ed herself, and set off with Roberts to Sherrard Street, Hay market. On arriving at home, Roberts, to his own and my wife’s astonishment, found Gates there in a state of exuberant sat isfaction. He was waiting to pay any claim Roberts had upon Mrs. Grey, to whom, the ex-attorney exultingly an nounced, he was to be married on the following Thursday. Roberts scarcely believing his ears, hastened up to the first floor, to ascertain if Mrs. Grey had really given authority to Gates to act for her. He tapped at the door, and a faint voice bidding him enter, he saw at once what had happened. Mrs. Grey, pale as marble, her eyes flashing with almost insane excitemant, was standing by a table, upon which a large tray had been placed covered with soups, jellies, and other delicacies, evi dently just brought in from a tavern, eagerly watching her son partake of the first food he had tasted for two whole days ! Roberts saw clearly how it was, and stammering a foolish excuse of having tapped at the wrong door, has tened away. She had at last deter mined to sacrifice herself to save her child’s life! Emily, as she related what she had seen and heard, wep with passionate grief and I was scarcely less excited : the union of Mrs. Grey with such a man seemed like the profa nation of a pure and holy shrine. Then Gates was, spite of his windfall, as he called it, essentially a needy man ! Be sides —and this was the impenetrable mystery of the affair—what induce ment, what motive could induce a mer cenary wretch like Gates to unite him self in marriage with poverty—with destitution ? The notion of his being influenced by sentiment of any kind was, I felt, absurd. The more I reflect ed on the matter, the more convinced 1 became that there was some villainous scheme in process of accomplishment by Gates, and I determined to make at least one resolute effort to arrive at a solution of the perplexing riddle. The next day, having a few hours to spare, the thought struck me that I would call on Mrs. Grey myself. I accordingly proceeded towirds her residence, and in Coventry btreet happened to meet Jackson, a brother officer, who, I was ‘aware from a few inquiries 1 had pre viously made, knew something of Gates’s past history and present posi tion. After circumstantially relating the whole matter, 1 asked him if he could possibly guess what the fellow’s object could be in contracting such a marriage ? “ Object!’ replied Jackson ; “why, money, of course: what else? He has by some means become aware that the lady is entitled to property, and he is scheming to get possion of it as her husband.” “My own conviction ? Yet the dif ficulty of getting at any proof seems in surmountable.” “Just so. And by the way, Gates is certainly in high feather just now, however acquire I. Not only himself, but I ’i vers.his head clerk as he calls him self, has cast his old greasy skin, and appears quite spruce and shining. And —now I remember—what did you say was the lady’s name ?” “ Grey.” “ Grey ! Ah, then I suppose it can have nothing to do with it! It was a person of the name of Welton or Skel ton that called on us a month or two ago about Gates.” “VV hat was the nature of the com munication ?” “ 1 can hardly tell you : the charge was so loosely made, and hurriedly withdrawn. Skelton—yes, it was Skel ton—he resides in pretty good style at Knightsbridge—called, and said that Gates had stolen a cheque or draft for five hundred pounds, and other articles sent through him to some house in the city, of which 1 think he said the prin cipal was dead. He was advised to ap ply through a solicitor to a magistrate, and went away, we supposed for that purpose; but about three hours after wards he returned, and in a hurried, flurried sort of way said he had been mistaken, and that he withdrew every charge he had made against Mr. Gates.” “ Very odd.” “ Yes : hut I don’t see how it can he in any way connected with this Mrs. Grey’s affairs. Still, do you think it would he of any use to sound Rivers? 1 know the fellow well, and where I should he pretty sure to find him this evening.” It was arranged he should do so, and 1 proceeded on to Sherrard Street.— Mrs. Grey was alone in the front apart ment on the ground-floor, and received me with much politeness. She had, 1 saw been weeping; her eyes were swollen and bloodshot; and she was deadly pale ; hut I looked in vain for any indication of that utter desolation which a woman like her condemned to such a sacrifice, might naturally he dis posed to feel. 1 felt greatly embar rassed as to how to begin ; but at length I plunged boldly into the matter; assured her she was cruelly deceived by Gates, who was in no condition to provide for her and her son in even tolerable comfort: and I was convinced he had no other than a mercenary and detestable motive in seeking marriage with her. Mrs. Grey heard me in so totally unmoved a manner, and the feel ing that 1 was really meddling with things that did not at all concern me, grew upon me so rapidly, as I spoke to that unanswering countenance, that by the time 1 had finished my eloquent harangue, I was in a perfect fever of embarrassment and confusion, and very heartily wished myself out of the place. To my further bewilderment, Mrs. Grey, when 1 had quite concluded, in formed me —in consideration, she said, of the courtesies l had shown her when we were fellow-travellers—that she was perfectly aware Mr. Gates’s motive in marrying her was purely a mercenary one; and her own in consenting to the union, except as regarded her son, was, she admitted scarcely better. She ad ded—riddle upon riddles! —that she knew also t hat Mr. Gates was very poor —insolvent, she understood. I rose mechanically to my feet, with a confused notion swimming in my head that both of us at all events could not be in our right senses. This feeling must have been visible upon my face, for Mrs. Grey added with a half-smile, “You cannot reconcile these apparent contradictions; he patient; you will perfectly comprehend them before long. But as i wish not to stand too low in your estimation I must tell you that Mr. Gates is to subscribe a written agreement that we separate the instant the ceremony has been performed.— But for that undertaking, 1 would have suffered any extremity, death itself, rather than have consented to marry him ?” Still confused, stunned as it were, by what I had heard, my hand was on the handle of the door to let myself out, when a thought arose in my mind. “Is it possible, Mrs. Grey,” I said, “ that you can have been deceived into a be lief that such a promise, however for mally laid down, is of the slightest legal value? —that the law recognizes, or would enforce, an instrument to render nugatory the solemn obligation you will, after signing it, make ‘to love, honour, obey and cherish your hus band ?’ ” I had found the right chord at last. Mrs. Grey, as I spoke, became deadly pale ; and had she not caught at one of the heavy chairs, she would have been unable to support herself. “Do I understand you to say,” she faintly and brokenly gasped, “that such ;m agreement as I have indicated, duly sealed and and witnessed, could not be summarily enforced by a magistrate?” “ Certainly it could not, my dear madam, and well Gates knows it to he so; and lam greatly mistaken in the man, if, once the irrevocable ceremony over, he would not be the first to deride your credulity.” “ If that he so,” exclaimed the unfor tunate lady with passionate despair, “1 am indeed ruined—lost! Oh my dar ling boy, would that you and I were sleeping in your father’s quiet grave !” “ Say not so, I exclaimed with emo tion, for I was afflicted by her distress. “ Honor me with your confidence, and all may yet be well.” After much entreaty, she despairing ly complied. The substance of her story, which was broken by frequent outbursts of grief and lamentations, was as follows:—She was the only child of a London merchant, Mr. Walton, we will call him, who had lived beyond his means, and failed ruinously to an immense amount. Ilis spirits and health were broken by this event, which he survived only a few months. It hap pened that about the time of the bank ruptcy she had become acquainted with Mr. J onn Grey, the only son of an emi nent East India merchant, hut a man of penurious disposition and habits. “ Mr. Ezekiel Grey ?” The same. They became attached to each other, deeply so ; and knowing that to solicit the elder Grey’s consent to their union would be tantamount to a sentence of immediate separation and estrangement, they unwisely, thought lessly, married about ten months after Mr. Walton’s death, without the elder Grey’s knowledge. Gates, an attorney, then in apparently lair circumstances with whom young Mr. Grey had be come acquainted, and Anne Crawford, Maria Walton’s servant, were the wit nesses of the ceremony, which after due publication of banns, was celebrated in St. Giles’ Church. The young couple, after the marriage, lived in the strictest poverty, the wife meagrely supported by the pocket money allowance of Mr. Ezekiel Grey to his son. Thus pain fully elapsed nine years of life, when, about twelve months previous to the present time, Mr. Grey determined to send his son to Bombay, in order to the arrangement of some complicated claims on a house of agency there. It was de cided that, during her husband’s absence, Mrs. John Grey should reside in Guern sey, partly with a view to economy, and partly for the change of air, which it was said their son required—Mr. Gates to be the. medium through which money and letters were to reach the wife. Mr. Ezekiel Grey died some what suddenly about four months after his son’s departure from England and Mrs. Grey had been in momentary ex pectation of the arrival of her husband, when Gates came to Guernsey, and an nounced his death at Bombay, just as he was preparing for the voyage to England ! The manner of Gates was strange and insolent; and he plainly intimated that without his assistance both herself and child would be beg gars ; and that assistance he audacious ly declared he would only afford at the price of marriage ! Mrs. Grey, over whelmed with grief for the loss of a husband by whom she had been as con stantly, as tenderly beloved, and dizzy with ill defined apprehension, started at once for London. A copy of the will of Mr. Ezekiel Grey had been pro cured, by which in effect he devised all his estate, real and personal, to his son; hut in the event of Mr. John Grey dying unmarried, or without lawful is sue, it went to his wife’s nephew Mr. Skelton “Skelton of Knightsbrige?” Yes ; in case of Mr. John Grey mar rying, Skelton was to be paid an imme diate legacy of five thousand pounds. So far, then, as fin-tune went, the widow and her son seemed amply provided for. So Mrs. Grey thought till she had another interview with Gates, who un blushingly told her that unless she con sented to marry him, he would not prove, though he had abundant means of doing so, that the person she had married at St. Giles’ Church was the son of Ezekiel Grey, the eminent mer chant ! “ The name,” said the scoun drel, “will not help you; there are plenty of John Greys on that register ; and as for Anne Crawford, she has been long since dead.” Mrs. Grey next call ed ou Mr. Skelton, and was turned out of the house as an imposter; and final ly, having parted with everything upon which she could raise money, and Gates reiterating his offer, or demand rather accompanied by the proposal of an im mediate separation, she had consented. “Courage, madam !” I exclaimed, at the end of her narrative of which the above is the substance—and 1 spoke in a tone of joyous confidence which, more than my word*, reassured her: “I al ready see glimpses of daylight through this maze of villany. Gates has play ed a desperate game, certainly, but one which we shall, you may rely on it, easily baffle.” A knock at the door in terrupted me. I peered through the blind and saw that it was Gates. “ Si lence —secrecy !” 1 emphatically urg ee in a low voice, and with my finger on my lip, and left the room before the street door could be answered; and by my friend Roberts’ contrivance, I was in a few minutes afterward in the street, all the time unobserved by the intruder. The next day early Jackson called on me. He had seen Rivers, but he seem ed to know nothing, except, indeed, that it was quite true Gates had re ceived a five hundred pound draft from a house in India, which he (Rivers) had got notes for at the Bank of England. There were also in the same parcel a gold watch, he knew, and some jewelry, but from whom it all came, he (Rivers) was ignorant. Nothing but that had THIRD VOLUME-NO. U WHOLE NO 122. Jackson been able to discover. “ Call you that nothing ?” said I, starting up, and hastily swallowing my last cup of coffee. “It is enough, at all events, to transport William Gates, Esquire!” I had to wait that morning on special business on the commissioner ; and af ter the business upon which I had been summoned had been despatched, I re lated the ease of Grey versus Gates as clearly and succinctly as I could. He listened with great attention, and in about a quarter of an hour I left him with as clear and unmistakable a path before me as it was possible to desire. 1 was passing down the stairs when I was re-summoned. “You quite understand, Waters, that Skelton is not for a moment to be lost sight of till his deposition has been taken ?” “ Certainly, sir.” “ That will do then.” Arrived at home. I despatched my wife in a cab for Airs. Grey. She soon arrived, and as much as was necessary of our plan confided to her. Mr. Gates had pressed her earnestly that the cere mony should take place on the follow ing morning. By my directions she now wrote, although her trembling fin gers made an almost unintelligible scrawl of it, that as it was to he, she agreed to his proposition, and should expect him an nine o’clock. Two hours afterwards, Jackson and 1, having previously watched the gen tleman home, knocked at Mr. Skelton’s house, Knightsbridge, and requested to see him. At that very moment, he came out of a side-room, and was pro ceeding up stairs. “ Mr. Skelton,” said I, stepping for ward, “I must have a private interview with you !” He was in an instant as pale as a corpse, and shaking like an aspen —such miserable cowards does an evil conscience make man—and totter ingly led the way, without speaking to a small library. “ You know me, Mr. Skelton, and doubtless guess the meaning of my er rand.” He stammered out a denial, which his trembling accents and ashy counte nance emphatically denied. “ You and Gates of the Minories are engaged in a felonious conspiracy to deprive Mrs. Grey and her infant son of their property and their inheri tance !” Had he been struck by a cannon-shot, lie could not have fallen more sudden ly and helplessly upon the couch close to which he was standing. “ My God !” he exclaimed, “what is this?” Perceiving he was quite sufficiently frightened, I said, “ There is no wish on MVs. Grey’s part to treat you harsh ly, so that you aid us in convicting Gates. For this purpose you must at once give the number of the notes Gates obtained for the cheque, and also the letter in which the agent at Bombay announces its transmission thro’ Gates.” “ Yes—yes ?” he stammered, rising, and going to a secretarie. “ There is the letter.” I glanced over it. “ I am glad to find,” I said, “ that you did not know by this letter that the money and other articles here enumerated had been sent by the dying husband to his wife thro’ Gates.” “ I most solemnly assure you I did not!” he eagerly replied, “ until—un til”— “ Air. Gates informed you of it, and seduced you to conspire with him. He has been playing a double game.— Whilst amusing you, he proposes mar rying Airs. Grey to-morrow morning !” “Is it possible ? But I supected”— “No doubt. In the mean time you will, if you please, accompany us.— There is every desire to spare you.” I added, seeing him hesitate; “but our orders are peremptory.” With a very ill grace Air. Skelton complied, and we were rapidly driven oft’. The next morning Jackson, Skelton and myself, were in Sherrard Street be fore daybreak. Airs. Grey was already up, and at eight o’clock we sat down with her and her son to an excellent breakfast. She was charmingly dress ed in the wedding garments which Gates had purchased with her stolen money, and 1 almost felt it in my heart to pity the unfortunate bridegroom, rascal as he was, about to be disappointed of such a bride and such a fortune ! It was very necessary that she should be so arrayed, for, as we had thought quite probable, Rivers called a few minutes past eight with a present of jewelry, and the bride’s appearance must have completely disarmed any suspicion which his master might have enter tained. Breakfast was over: Airs. Grey, with her son, was seated on a couch in the front room, and we were lying perdu in the next apartment, separated only by folding doors, when a coach drew up before the house; a bridegroom’s im patient summons thundered at the door; and presently forth stepped Air. Gates, resplendently attired, followed by his man Rivers, who was, it appeared, to give the bride away. Air. Gates en tered the presence of beautiful Airs. Grey in immense triumph. He ap proached her with the profoundest gal lantry ; and was about to speak, when Jackson and I, who had been seduous ly watching through the chink of the slightly-opened doors, advanced into the room, followed by Air. Skelton.— Ilis attitude of terror and suprise was one of the most natural performances 1 ever witnessed. He turned instinct ively as if to flee. Aly grasp was in an instant on his collar. “ The game is up, my good Air. Gates: I arrest you for felony !” “ Felony !” “ Ay, truly. For stealing a gold watch, diamond pin, and a cheque for five hundred pounds, sent through you to this ladv.” All his insolent swagger vanished in an instant, and the abject scoundrel threw himself at Mrs. Grey’s feet, and absolutely howled for mercy. “ I will do anything,’* he gaspingly protested ; “ anything you require, so that you will save me from these men!” “ Where is Crawford ?” I asked, de sirous of taking immediate, but not, I hope, unfair advantage of the rascal s terror ; “she who witnessed this lady’s marriage ?” “At Deamington, Warwickshire,’ he replied. “ Very good. Now, Mrs. Grey, if you will leave us, I shall be obliged.— We must search this gentleman, and perhaps ” She vanished in an in stant ; her gentleness of disposition was, 1 saw, rapidly mastering all re sentment. 1 carried the watch we took out of Gate’s pocket to her, and she instantly recognized it to be her hus band’s. A fifty and a twenty-pound bank-note corresponding to the num ber on our list, we extricated from the disappointed bridegroom’s pocket-book. “ And now, sir, if you please,” said I, “ we will adjourn to your lodgings.” A savage scowl was his only reply, not at all discomposing to me, and we were soon busy ransacking his hidden hoards. We found several other articles sent by Mr. John Grey to his wife, and three letters to her, which, as corroborative evidence, would leave no doubt as to who her husband was. Our next visit was to a police court, where Mr. Wil liam Gates was fully committed for trial. He was in due time convicted of steal ing the watch, and sentenced to trans portation for seven years. Mrs. Grey’s marriage, and her son’s consequent succession to the deceated merchant’s wealth, were not disputed. She has never married, and lives now in benefiicent affluence in one of the new squares beyond the Edgeware Road, with her son, who, though now six-and-twenty years of age, or therea bouts, is still unappropriated; but “the good time is coming,” so at least hint ed a few days ago the fashionable “ Morning Post ” KBntmtl tßrlrrtir. From the Literary World. LEAVING NEW ORLEANS. “ Whither bound, mon ami ?” said I, one morning to an acquaintance whom 1 found airing a carpet bag in the por tico of the St. Charles’ Hotel. “ I’m taking my bag to have a little repairing done to the lock, for I think of taking ‘a run’ up to Louisville this afternoon.” “A run—to Louisville—why, it’s a thousand miles; and only a carpet bag!” stammered I. “ Pooh, pooh !” he rejoined, mum bling his after-breakfast cigar with great nonchalance, “that’s nothing after you’ve lived in these parts a few years; why M went to Europe yesterday on two hours’ notice, and will, be back almost as quickly as you will reach Manhattan if you play sight-seer by the way-side. Splendid boat this after noon, too, —Peytona—a regular steam race-horse.” “ I’m sorry I’d not known this be fore. I was going myself in a day or two, as soon as I found a boat.” “ Found a boat! Come, now, that is good. Do you go looking after them with a telescope 1 \\ hy, my boy, there’s twenty at the levee any day.— I’ll introduce you to one of our old stagers, one of the first merchants, who thinks it a capital joke when he hears the last bell of a steamboat ringing, to get quietly up from his counting house desk, lock his drawers, and tell his clerks he’s going to Vicksburg, just as ’coolly as he informs them of an ab sence to dinner. And that isn’t all : he either steps on board just as the boat pushes oft', or takes a small boat after her. Bound to go when he says so ! Come up with your luggage ; the clerk’s a particular friend, and I’ll pro mise you the best of state rooms and fare.” “ I'll do it, said I; grasping his hand. And we met in the early evening on the “ Peytona.” I had not been used to stepping on board just at shoving off, nor had I quite accustomed my comprehension to the calling a four or five days’ sailing “ a run so I was down, with ample time to spare, and stood upon the boiler deck, surveying the prospect, bv the side of a nervous man, who declared he could feel the steam through his boots. If ever there existed a commercial beehive, here was one : clerks, porters, draymen, hack men, stevedores, deck hands, passengers, and loafers, swarm ing in and out the cellular passages by the grain and cotton bags, hogsheads, and corn sacks, far as the eye could reach. A dozen bells were ringing like mad, and the air was dark with the smoke from the firing up of the dozen steamboats about, which lay side by side, head up to the piles of the levee, like a column of manne soldiery. All about their stems and sterns, audacious ly dashing under the very w heel pad dles, were scores of little boats filled with peddlery. The Jew was there with his hundred-bladed penknives, sponges, and metallic tablets ; the Yan kee with his curious knick-knacks brought from every auction mart in town ; nondescrips with oranges, banan as, and conchshells, which latter now and then were blown with sound re sembling the bray of a mule when touched with colic, to which the steam boat bells tolled out their music exult ingly. “ D’ye see that boat, the third from us ?” asked my compagnion du voyage , who now had joined the throng about us. “ She with the heaviest smoke and loudest bell ?” “ The same.” “ She’ll beat us on the start. How’ eager to push off!” My Iriend gave me one of his pecu liar laughs, and added, “If she backs out into the stream before day after morrow, I’ll forfeityour good opinion. That puffing, and wheezing, and bell tolling is all a sham ; a trick to catch passengers. She’s the only boat of her trade in, and will keep up the fuss un-